A Baptism of Fire
by crashbangwallop
Summary: Fenris left a long time ago, & now Hawke is with the mage. But what happens when he goes to visit her, to confess? A Fenris & Anders fic based around jealously, anger & violence. Lots of blood! Please R/R!


Title: Baptism by Fire.

Fandom/Universe: Dragon Age II.

Characters: Fenris & Anders.

Rating: U.

Genre: Angst/Violence/Jealousy.

Length: 1, 700.

Disclaimer: I love Bioware & occasionally I use their characters to act out scenarios in my brain.

A/N: This is my entry into MediocoreMemory's current fanfic competition - The Slave & The Mage on DeviantArt, where she asked for stories about a confrontation/arguement/debate/fight between lovely Fenris & not-so-lovely Anders (just my opinion!) Of course, I went for lots of angst & blood. I apologise for not doing something more original.

We had to add both a music track & an image to the story in order to make it come alive.

This is the music: .com/watch?v=ORYSdpdQv0U&feature=related

This is the picture: .

Oh! Even though the fic is written in third person, the POV shifts slightly. I mark where this is happening with little ** paragraph breakers. It's just so I can write about what's happening in each of their heads without the whole thing getting too messy.

Fenris was sprawled lazily over one of the sofas in what used to be Danarius' parlour room. The elf's lithe body stretched out over the cushions - the traces of his lyrium markings glowing softly against dying embers in the nearby hearth. His leather-clad legs; too long to fit comfortably with the rest of him, lolled over the armrest and a pair of bare feet dangled in mid-air by the fireplace.

He coughed lightly and stirred awake. One arm lay across his forehead while the other was curled up on his exposed chest, nursing a bottle of wine. He untwined himself and sat up slowly; a headache already beginning to thump behind his eyes. Tipping the brown bottle until it was hung vertically in the air above his lips, he tasted just a trickle of the rich-flavoured (and now lukewarm) liquor pooling on his tongue. Fenris barked in frustration, throwing the the empty bottle at the nearest wall. It instantly shattered with a satisfying crash of broken glass.

He tried to stand, though almost immediately fell back after wavering for a few seconds on the spot. How long had he been drinking? As the alcohol-fuelled warmth began to creep away from the fringes of his conciousness, immediate memories started to return to him. The elf snarled, feeling foolish, as he recalled what had driven him to knock himself out with copious amounts of stolen wine in the first place. Moments later, he felt a familiar swell of painful regret sit heavily in his chest.

A number of of the Agreggio's discarded brothers lay strewn on the dirty rug at his feet. Fenris frowned to himself, realising he had no concept of what time it was. Glancing out of the murky windows, he saw dark, inky clouds rolling across the sky, vaguely illuminated by a watery moon. A few spatters of rainwater started to drum on the panes.

It looked as if a storm was brewing.

Anders pushed through a crowd of drunken partygoers that were congregated on the doorstep at one of Hightown's ale houses, forcing his body through their swarm as quickly as he could. He didn't have time for manners right now; he was barely managing to conduct himself properly without errupting in blue flame. The voice of Justice screamed at him within his own head - demanding that the mage stop wasting time on such meaningless distractions. But this wasn't meaningless. To Anders, this was a matter of life or death. Justice could either help him, or stay out of his way.

There was only one person the mage needed to see, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say when he found him. It was possible he wasn't going to _say_ anything. Sheets of rain were now crashing out of the sky, soaking him to the bone. Anders clenched his jaw; animosity seeping from him like a poisonous sooner he got away from where others could see him, the better. Anger made it difficult to keep his _dark passenger_ in check.

Blood pounded in his ears as he ascended the stairs to the Hightown mansions, feet almost slipping on the wet stone. Thunder clapped above his head and the cold made him shudder. He realised he was holding his shoulders so tensely that they were aching. Rounding the corner in a flurry of blue robes and grey feathers, Anders came face to face with the home of the one he was seeking. His hair stuck plastered to his face and neck while he paused for a moment infront of the heavy, wooden door. A determined scowl marred across the mage's usually gentle features. Raising a clenched fist to the pannelled oak, he thumped loudly.

Fenris' ears pricked at the sound. The only person who ever came to visit him at the mansion was Hawke and the elf was damned sure it wouldn't be her rapping at his door. Not in the middle of the night. Not now.

Standing up warily, he gave a sideways glance to his armor, which was propped on a stand in the corner of the room - freshly tanned and polished. His cursed himself for not sleeping in it. Judging by the urgency of the banging coming from downstairs, he wouldn't have time to sheath himself; whatever thief or slaver had dared to trespass in his home would just have to face the elf in merely his breeches. Gingerly, he reached for his favourite greatsword from a collection of weapons and, tossing the hilt in his hands a few times, made his way into the entrancehall of his mansion.

Standing atop of the stairs that lead down into the hallway, Fenris watched one of the double frontdoors creak open on it's hinges. A shadow moved inside and then closed the door behind them, pausing infront of the threshold. A flash of lightning suddenly streaked outside the windows and cast the lower part of the room in bright, white light. Anders stood, sodden by the rain, obviously looking for the elf.

Fenris lowered his sword, a little confused at the intrusion.

"Show yourself!" Anders called as he walked over to the doorway that led to the kitchens and peered around the corner, "I know you're here, you bastard!"

"Anders," Fenris barked, resting his sword against the parapet.

The mage's head snapped up at the sound and on seeing his prey, his eyes narrowed with fury, "Oh good, you're awake."

He stalked toward the foot of the stairs, where he put a white-knuckled hand on the banister and scowled angrily, slowly closing the distance between them with each step.

"Enjoy that, did you? Coming up with a load of shit to try and confuse her?"

Fenris frowned and opened his mouth, but wasn't given a chance to respond.

"She told me you went to see her today," Anders said, giving a humorless laugh as he approached, "She told me you finally admitted your _feelings_ for her. And do you know what? It worked."

He paused then, with one foot raised infront of him on the stairs. The mage's fury was temporarily replaced with an expression of sorrow, though he continued to look Fenris right in the eye.

"_It worked_." He repeated, gritting his teeth, "You win."

He shook his head and screwed up his eyes, "She said she needed time to think, that she was confused. And now, _because of you_, I may have lost her."

Fenris tried to speak but was instead forced to duck a sudden incoming swing from the mage's fist. He leapt out of the way, abanonding his sword, and stepped backward into the room strewn with broken and empty bottles. He negotiated himself behind the sofa he had only woke upon minutes beforehand, but Anders was following him at a suprising pace and swung his fist again, just brushing his knuckles against the elf's pointed ears.

"I did not go there to confuse her," Fenris scolded, trying to put as many objects between himself and the mage as possible, "I just... I had to tell her the truth."

This revalation incensed Anders to breaking point. He felt the powers of Justice beginning to seep through the cracks of his barely-there self-control but supressed the spirit with every ounce of his inner strength. If Fenris wasn't using his sword, he wouldn't resort to using his magic.

"The truth?" He cried, snarling desperately at the elf, "What about _I LOVE HER_? How's that for truth? I love her more than anyone! More than _a knife-ear like you _could ever even comprehend!"

As those final words left his lips, as if spurring himself on, Anders yeilded his arcing fists and instead charged at the elf with an uncharacteristically guttural cry of anguish. Fenris was caught off guard as the mage churned into his bare torso, one of his shoulders knocking into the elf's nose as they both fell to the ground with a crash.

Fenris gave a twisted bellow of pain when his naked spine smacked against the cold floor - no doubt lacerated by the countless shattered glass bottles beneath him. Instantly, the charted lyrium that swirled across his bare skin sang with indignation. Anders winced as the bright blue light stung at his eyes in the darkened room, though he tried to keep the elf pinned down.

"You know nothing!" The elf suddenly raged below him, and the mage was struck across the side of his face by bony knuckles, pain ripping through one side of his jaw. The same strong, nimble hands were then on his arms and Anders was thrown off Fenris' body with suprising force, falling backwards into the nearest wall.

The mage winced, the air knocked out of his lungs, and quickly concluded he had recieved a cracked rib. Instinctively his fingers began to hum with the green glow of healing magic, though he suppressed the urge almost immediately. He did not wanted to win this by calling upon his arcane talents and give the elf an excuse to say it wasn't a fair fight. Though, he had to admit, the idea of inflaming the slave further with the use of magic _was_ tempting.

Anders watched Fenris carefully steady himself on both feet; fresh cuts across his sides bleeding a little. Thunder rumbled noisely over their heads and the rain continued to mercilessly batter the outside of the windows. Briefly, Anders wondered whether Hawke was safely tucked up and asleep in bed.

Fenris' dark, brooding voice broke his reverie.

"_Ei vento nai mordoi deid_,"

The mage let out an exasperated breath, though he winced at the pain of having his lungs expand under a bruised ribcage,

"If you're going to talk-"

"You think you are the only one to have loved her?" The elf spat abruptly. His eyes flashed dangerously as another bolt of lightening slashed through the night sky.

Anders said nothing, but stood to meet Fenris' gaze. They paused for a moment - eyeing each other with silent contemplation. A savage wind howled outside, rattling at the window panes. The mage knew he was easily half a foot taller and twice as heavy as the elf, though he considered that underestimating a hardened ex-slave with decades of battle practise would be jeopardous.

"Yes, I saw her today." The elf sneered, wiping blood from his nose onto the back of his hand and continuing to give off an eeie blue glow like an oversized, ironic halo.

"And, yes, if you really must know, I told her how I feel about her. I told her she is like some sort of intoxicant, filling up my every sense until I am living and breathing her; until I am unable to do _anything _without thinking about her."

Ander's fists clenched at his side. It was a surprise to hear the elf talk so transparently, but the expression on his face made the mage wonder whether Fenris was getting some strange kick out of admitting all this to him. Was this an attempt to goad him? Regardless, Anders didn't want to know. The elf was just a rabid dog; completely incapeable of feeling the same intensity of emotion that he could. Fenris looked upon Hawke as a leader, a master - someone whom he conveyed with adulation and allegiance, not the devotion or fervor that Anders knew.

The elf's brow furrowed, as if he could hear the mage's thoughts.

"I have every right to tell her how I feel."

His eyes narrowed and he seemed to break off for a moment, as if considering the words that were about to come to his blood-smudged lips,

"_I___do not wait for her in some sordid fantasy - speaking all the things I mean to say only in the Fade & never in reality. _I_ do not steal glances at her while she sleeps. I do not take solace from a fraudalent embrace when she seeks comfort _from a friend_."

This declaration earned Fenris the satisfaction of seeing a shameful red blush creep up Anders' neck and onto his cheeks. He smiled to himself before the mage lunged forward - suddenly baying for blood - his arms outstretched and aiming for Fenris' neck.

Caught a little uaware, he felt the apostate's crimson-spattered hands wrap tightly around his throat but tripped & fell backward onto the sofa before he was pinned against a wall. Anders leant down onto him, pushing his head into the cushions before bringing one hand away in order to punch at the elf's face.

Fenris howled angrily in response, feeling some of his teeth loosen in their gums and a fresh cut open on his lower lip, flooding his mouth with the metallic taste of blood. He threw a fist of his own and it met the bridge of Anders' nose with a satisfying crunch. The apostate recoiled with a bellow of pain and snorted blood over Fenris' glowing bare chest, though he did not let go of the elf's neck.

Fenris curled his legs up into his taut body and heaved his feet outward with all the strength of a heavily disciplined slave. Anders staggered backward again, just about managing to stay on his feet, and was forced to release his vice-like grip.

The elf wasted no time in sprinting out of the room and toward his favoured sword; it was leant against the banister of the stairway where he'd left it. He didn't want to risk being unarmed if Anders gave up and called upon Justice to fight this battle for him, and he didn't trust the mage not to do it. He knew what they were capeable off when push came to shove. He needed to be ready if it happened.

"Running away?" Anders called after him, panting and holding his nose as it squirted scarlet down his face & neck, "Just like you did before? _With her_?"

He knew he shouldn't have let anything dampen his focus, but those words stung far more than any badly-aimed swing could. Unable to stop himself, the elf's steps faltered and he turned on the spot to see Anders sneering at him.

"Bastard son of a whore," Fenris glowered darkly, his lyrium brands flaring under the moonlight. He spat a mixture of saliva and blood from his throbbing mouth, aimed at the mage's feet.

"She told me you were good person - deep down inside," Anders revelled, his eyes flashing, "She said we all needed to look beyond your past and try to find the _real _Fenris. She insisted that you just needed help, just needed to learn about mages like us. All she's ever done is try to befriend you, to educate you, to protect you."

The urge to lunge forward and shut his abomination's mouth overpowered any other thought and the elf swung another fist - missing by a hair's breadth as the mage dodged out of his way.

Fenris hadn't seen the retaliating punch before it connected squarely against his jaw, making stars appear behind his eyes. He fell against the wall and then slid to the floor in a daze, trying in vain to regain his composure.

Anders looked down at him and Fenris heard something akin to regret in his voice,

"I don't know. Maybe she even tried to love you." The mage swallowed and his eyes hardened, "But where did that get her?"

The elf growled before forcing himself to stand back up - and though he wobbled a little on the spot, he stared Anders down defiantly. The scars on his body were burning so brightly they gave off tangible heat. Every instinct in his body - all of his years of servitude as a hardened warrior - was telling him to simply leap forward and _tear out this abomination's heart_. Were it not for the grief that it would undoubtedly cause Hawke, the elf shuddered to realise he probably could.

"Some of us actually care about her, you know." Anders glowered, his jaw set with something between sorrow and vehemence, "Some of us just want her to be happy."

Fenris gritted his teeth and felt one side of his face ache with fresh bruises,

"You think I don't want that too?"

Anders shook his head angrily; the elf was just too stupid and too selfish to have seen anything beyond his own petty jealousy.

"_She was _happy! Don't you understand? She was happy _with me_! But you couldn't just leave it, could you? You had to come back!"

Anders glowered, feeling the anger that had been driving him through this entire evening fuelled further by his own words said aloud,

"And don't think I'm stupid enough to think your timing is a coincidence, either!"

He gave Fenris a push with his palms, though he knew the elf couldn't step back any further. The Tevinter bared his teeth and gave a simmering growl of repulsion but Anders ignored him, his fury beginning to reach new heights.

"Just as we were finding our feet. Just as I thought I'd found someone who understood! You messed everything up! You had your chance and you fucked it up! Don't you understand what I may have lost? Because of _you!"_

And suddenly, as if stoked by his own voice, there it was; an uncontrollable blue flame exploding to life inside him, fed by his temper and sustained by nothing short of white-hot rage. His vision blurred temporarily and the mage felt his skin dift across the surface of his bones like shifting tectonic plates - a burning blue shimmering between the cracks.

The decaying ruins of Danarius' old mansion faded to black around him. All he saw now was the white-haired elf, looking back at him with an expression of contempt. He did not understand, he could not understand. But Justice would set that right. Justice had the ability to make anyone see the truth.

Fenris reached for his sword and held it infront of him, falling into battle stance and eyeing the the spirit warily.

A voice laughed inside the mage's head. This was it. This is how it would end. Damned be the consequences. _She was all that mattered._

A torrent of cerulean flame rushed from Justice's hands, though the elf raised his sword just in time, and the fire licked around the edges of the weapon, unable to touch their target.

In response Fenris swung his sword in an arc but Justice quickly conjured a protective shield and the blade bounced away moments before it would have struck home. The elf growled; the bright glow of his lyrium brands shining equally as bright as the cobalt fire of Justice's anger. He moved to strike again, though the mage summoned a totem that burnt simmering runes into the ground and as the elf moved forward, he slammed into an invisible barrier.

Roaring with frustration, Fenris spat another mouthful of blood at Justice's feet.

_"Had enough, little dog?"_

Justice laughed and held his hands aloft. More fire errupted from his fingertips, but this time it was a smouldering black ribbon that tore through the air and snaked across the elf's blade. Fenris watched, aghast, as the smoking flame suddenly pulled the hilt from his hands. The sword flew away from him, hitting a far wall, and clattered to the ground far out of his reach.

Justice's fevered gaze turned to to the elf and a wicked smile formed on his lips.

_"It ends here."_

He darted forward unnaturally fast and before Fenris had time to move, the mage's cracked hands were wrapped around the little elf's neck. It was just as before, only now there was nothing Fenris could do to make him let go. He struggled beneath the steel grip nonetheless, thrashing at the mage's body with every free limb, but Justice did not stop. The mage squeezed his fingers, feeling the heat of burning lyrium blister Anders' palms. But he did not let go. He would stand like this until he could watch the life-force drain from the little knife-ear's eyes.

Suddenly the doors to the mansion crashed open. Before the mage was able to turn his head, he felt wind whip at his face and something irreversibly strong pushed at his shoulder. Staggering, he instinctevly released one hand in order to keep his balance, but before he could regain his grip, there was a second whistle of air and his other shoulder felt the same tugging sensation.

A final rush of something fast and dangerous flew past him, and he slammed against the wall, forced to let go of the elf, finding himself unable to move.

Fenris immediately fell to his knees, coughing and sputtering and gasping for air. His scars were no longer glowing.

Looking from side to side in a confused panic, the mage saw crossbow bolts skewering each shoulder of his robes, pinning him down.

Varric stood in the entranceway, Bianca gripped tightly in his hands. As if on cue, a devastating crack of lightning flashed behind him in the doorway and the dwarf's squatted silouette cast a long shadow across the hall.

On seeing the stout, fair-haired face, familiarity and reason drenched Justice's anger like a flood of cold water over a bonfire; his will snuffed out like the flame of a candle in a cool breeze. The dazzling fractures in Anders' skin disappeared as the flesh slowly began to knit back together, and the white light in his eyes faded. The mage's head drooped as his eyelids fell shut with fatigue and he sagged against the wall, defeated.

"Now now, Blondie," Varric tutted as he holstered his beloved crossbow on his back, walking across the hallway, "Haven't I told you to play nice?"

The dwarf quickly raced up the stairway and he patted the elf's back sharply in order to help him draw breath. Fenris grimaced at the impact on his injuries but held up one hand when he finally inhaled deeply and managed to nod in gratitude.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what's happened here," Varric murmured as his eyes swept over the cuts on Fenris' body and came to rest on Anders' unconcious form, "But I am sure of one thing; Hawke would have killed whomever had been left standing."

He reached up and pulled the bolts from the mage's robes. Anders fell to the floor, the impact barely arousing him from an exhuasted slumber.

Fenris grunted, still bent over on all fours and clutching at his crushed windpipe,

"_Get. Him. Out. Of. My. House_,"

"Come on, Blondie. Time to go home." Varric gave a few gentle slaps across Anders' pale and bloodied face.

The mage stirred enough to half-open his heavily lidded eyes and give a feeble wimper in response. He barely managed to cling to the dwarf's shoulders for some support as they began to descend the stairway.

As they were halfway to the grand entrance, Fenris succeeded in standing against the parapet, his battered upper torso resting on the cool stone. He watched them slowly amble to the front door.

"Varric," He barked throatily.

The dwarf paused and looked over his shoulder at the elf, Anders' still half unconcious at his side.

"Thankyou. You have no doubt saved my life."

Varric gave a half-smile, though he was regarding the elf with a wariness that was not there before.

"You can buy me a pint or five next time we're in Lowtown."

He turned away, but before he was able to continue out the front door, Fenris carried on,

"If he_ ever _comes here again,"

A dark loathing soured the elf's features then, and he surveyed the the mage, who was pitifully mewing quietly in pain and listlessness with nothing short of purest contempt.

"_I will kill him._"

Varric nodded once, sighing loudly as he turned to help push Anders' across the threshold and out of the mansion, into the unrelentless showers of Hightown rain.

Fenris stared at the space where the pair had been before the doors had closed with a soft thud. Rain continued to drum on the long manor windows, though it was much softer than before. The first hints of sunrise could be seen across the horizon; splashes of watercolour pinks and yellows beginning their trails across a turbulent inky sky.

The many bruises and lacerations across the elf's injured body cried out desperately for attention. He seemed to ache from every corner of his being but athe Tevinter was very used to pain. It wasn't too difficult to shut it out for a moment.

Closing his eyes, Fenris took in a deep, rattling breath. He wasn't a religious man by any stretches of the imagination but at that moment he found his thoughts turning skyward. Softly, in the quiet of an otherwise unoccupied manion, the elf prayed to the Maker that Hawke would reach her conclusion soon.

And with every last fibre of his being, he hoped she would make the right decision.


End file.
